


Improbable Mission

by claireweasley (orphan_account)



Category: Whose Line Is It Anyway? RPF
Genre: AU, Adult Content, Adultery, Angst and Humor, M/M, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-25
Updated: 2006-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-04 01:53:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/705141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/claireweasley





	1. Improbable Mission; Act One

****

When Colin gets to the last page, he runs his thumb absently down the side of the wad of paper, the crisp edges imprinting but not breaking the skin. He pauses momentarily, then turns it over and begins again.

You spend any time in Hollywood, and it becomes startlingly clear the world is full of aspiring actors.

The issue he supposes, had always been that out of all these actors, ninety eight percent of them were younger than him, more experienced, and had a full-head of hair. Colin knew how lucky he had been to find a place in the improv niche. People generally didn't care what you looked like on the comedy platform, as long as you could make them laugh occasionally.

But when you were on a big screen, or a movie reel, viewers got a little more discerning. And studio executives, even more so. Colin had seen his fair share of knock-backs since the demise of Whose line, without Ryan Stiles nearby to vouch for him.

Not that it's an entirely dismal scenario, he's not complaining; Colin's loved working with Sherwood, and the live audience. He's strong in improv now. Secure. He's hardly doing it tough. Now and again, he simply just gets that niggle, an urge for something a little different. He'd been in a few low-budget movies over time, but nothing to really push him to his limits or expose him to work that might. (Bondage gear notwithstanding).

Which is why, he supposes, when he'd gotten the script from a major studio his interest was piqued more than a little.

 

"It's a romantic comedy" His agent says, obviously distracted by something, her voice increasing and decreasing in volume.

"Yeah," Colin nods uselessly into the receiver "It's a romantic comedy about two men"

A pause.

"It's funny isn't it?"

"It has its moments--"

"Then what's the problem?"

Colin pauses, unsure how to answer that. He's hardly--, it's not the gay element, it just seems a little-- How does he explain that he feels uncomfortable because the role they want him to play is an improv comedian. What is that called anyway?

Anti-humorism?

"Look," His agent continues, not waiting for him. "Brokeback Mountain did better than everyone expected, now all the studios want a piece of the gay pie. Is it that big a deal?"

Colin snorts; "I'm hardly Jake Gyllenhall."

"They're striving for realism" she replies quickly, not sounding entirely convinced herself.

"They must be." Colin shoves his hands into his pockets, frustrated with his indecisiveness "Look Jess, it seems like a amazing opportunity. Let me read it again."

Honestly, his agent was right. The script was funny; seemed like a solid plot, strong characters. Poked fun at the comic world in an ultimately fond manner, with more nudges and winks to the classics than you could poke a stick at. It was written by a new, apparently very hip young thing on the scene, who had a way with words, and they had Terry Neilson onside to direct.

It was a good, no, _great_ opportunity, he'd be crazy to pass it up.

But there was just, something about the whole premise that made him nervous.

Don't start Mochrie, he tells himself, dropping the script on his couch with a thump, and then dropping himself on the couch beside it. Don't even think it.

He stares at the thick wad of paper, the edges of it starting to curl up already. He'll give it one last go over, he thinks finally. Then he'll contact Jess again and ask her if he's being punk'd.

 

"Now all the paperwork's done, they're moving fast," his agent tells him matter-of-factly. "Filming starts in three weeks."

"That soon?" Colin asks, clutching his mug and cringing visibly at Brad "I guess, that means. We'll have to re-arrange a few shows."

Brad shrugs, terminally unperturbed, and shovels another heaped fork of food into his mouth "Shhokay wiph me." He swallows. "I kind of feel like a proud Mama watching you go off into the world to play the leading role in a big 'ole gay movie"

"You mean weird defacto uncle don't you?"

Brad grins at him in that slightly manic way that's almost frightening.

Jess lights a cigarette, the flame lighting up her pale, possibly botoxed face. "Count yourself lucky they're not filming it in Australia, Colin"

"Yeah." Colin nods, shifting in his seat, feeling suddenly insecure about the whole thing. Now that it's an actual reality and everything is falling into place around him, it's a little intimidating. He sweeps the crumbs from his meal into his napkin, rolls it up and puts it in his pocket. Colin _is_ relieved that he'll be close to home, there's not so much trekking back and forth that way. Not so much guilt about leaving family behind, or missing important moments. There was always comfort home, in familiarity. It was reliable.

"Any word on whose playing the love of Colin's life?" Brad pipes up, bringing him out of his thoughts.

Colin sighs, and sips his drink. He'd known this would come up eventually, he just didn't know why he hadn't already brought it up himself to save the scene that was about to ensue.

A tiny smile from Jess. "Don't tell me Colin didn't tell you" She slides a piece of paper to him, Colin watches as Brad's eyes drift down the page, and then abruptly back to him--

"No _way_. You're shitting me"

Colin just smiles mildly.

"Of course" Brad, laughs then, loudly, leaning back in his seat. "Who else could it be?"

 

 

The first time Colin spots Ryan onset, he's sitting in makeup, laughing and, somewhat predictably, flirting with the female applying his foundation.

It's an odd feeling, like seeing an old relative, or someone who owes you money. Ryan hadn't been at the read through, and the director, Neilson, had sat in for him, so it's really the first time Colin's seen Ryan in over a year. He'd tried to ring him a few times, and vice versa, but they were both so busy these days.

That's the excuse they both stuck to anyway. That they had less and less in common these days seemed a more pertinent factor in their mutual apathy.

As if on cue, Ryan turns his head and grins at Colin. "Hey Mochrie, we were wondering when you'd show up."

"Hi Ryan." Colin nods, briefly lingering at the door before being ushered to the chair next to him by a thin man wearing stockings on his arms.

"Been a while." Ryan manages, his buxom makeup artist tilting his chin upwards and applying something to his lips.

"It has." Colin replies.

The first day goes well. Despite being a romantic comedy about two men, Colin's character as far as he can tell, is definitely coded as the typical female of the partnership. His character is also extremely clumsy, and Colin spends most of the morning falling over things and into contrived situations, and inexplicably crying over another man. Ryan's character is the typical confidante and best friend who harbours feelings for him, and as the story goes; Colin's oblivious character won't realise he returns that love until the final reel.

It's a tried and trusted formula.

Colin is admittedly, used to being the softer character, and finds he really enjoys the physicality of his role. Neilson keeps asking him if he wants to use his stunt double, but Colin keeps knocking him back. _I'm quite spry, really_ he assures them. It's the white hair; people always think he's much frailer than he is.

Besides, as far as he's concerned, pratfalling backwards into a soft mat, has nothing on getting your foot stuck in a rat trap.

It's also surprisingly easy to slip back into a rhythm with Ryan. Even with the script, the instinct that served them so well in the improv arena is still there, and occasionally, a problem. They are both stopped several times during the day for pre-empting the other.

"Ryan, you don't know he's going to fall, stop putting your arm out" Neilson says, sounding a little exasperated this time.

"Sorry." Ryan mumbles "I didn't even realise I did it."

"You are so crap." Colin deadpans, still lying on the mat, the plastic material sticking unnervingly to the back of his head. Ryan doesn't say anything, but one overlarge foot slams the padding conspicuously close to Colin's face, and he's rolling out of the way before he can stop himself.

"What was that you were saying?" Ryan asks, smiling vindictively.

Colin just grins and shakes his head.

The first week of filming passes rather quickly considering they spend most of their time on the same few scenes. The beauty of improv, he supposes, was that lack of monotony, but Colin doesn't mind it as much as he thought he would, he likes the idea of getting it just right. He's always loved it when he was onstage and it worked perfectly, so the idea of getting all his jokes to work is what fuels him along when it's tedious.

"I encouraged Brad to do a few shows with Greg, but he decided to wait anyway." Colin explains at lunch one day. "He believes no one would want to see the show without me, which is sweet, if not actually true."

"Oh yes, Bradley. How _is_ stepping on mousetraps for a living going?" Ryan teases, grabbing a soda and sitting in the seat opposite him.

"Very well." Colin replies, biting into something he thinks might be an egg sandwich. "I heard your radio show"

"Don't even start." Ryan says quickly.

"I didn't say anything."

"Yeah, well you forget I know what you're thinking."

Colin smirks. "What am I thinking now?"

Ryan pauses, and then glares at him.

"It was taken out of context."

Colin laughs so hard he almost chokes on his sandwich. Ryan throws a plastic fork at him, and it flies past his ear so close he can feel the rush of air on his skin, which only serves to make him laugh harder. He finally stops when he realises his young make up artist is at his side waiting to speak to him. Colin composes himself and re-directs his attention.

"You guys, you both need to come into the trailer after lunch to get your chest and arms done, apparently Neilson wants to film the love scene next."

"Thanks Alex," Colin replies, feeling slightly tense. He can already feel his face and the tops of his ears starting to burn up. Come on Mochrie, he thinks chidingly, it's not like you haven't kissed him before. In fact, that's all you did for years on Whose line.

Sometimes he's so awkward, it's humiliating.

When Colin looks up, Ryan is watching him, with an odd, kind of thoughtful expression. But, just as quickly it changes into a grin, and Ryan turns all the way around in his seat, calling out to the chef;

"Hey Michelle, we got any garlic bread?"

This time, Colin throws the fork.

 

 


	2. Improbable Mission; Act Two

Sticky. The makeup, or rather the liquid gunk they've wiped all over him is sticky, pulling at the hairs of his arms when he moves. Somewhere nearby Ryan is complaining loudly about it also, though being far less tactful and using more than a few cringeworthy expletives. Colin is too busy trying to find a comfortable position in his seat to pay him much attention. His make-up artist pats him on the shoulder.

"You'll be fine once it's dried properly."

He's right. But at about the same time the goop dries, and Colin finds a less awkward pose, Neilson is calling for them again, and Colin gives up being comfortable for the rest of the afternoon.

It's a closed set, thank god for small mercies, and unusually quiet when he walks in. Ryan is two steps behind him, bounding forward, he leans against Colin briefly

"Someone die in here or what?"

"I feel like we're in a porn movie."

Ryan chuckles. "You mean you wish."

Colin smiles and doesn't dignify a response.

The do a few quick scene blocks, without a rehearsal. Neilson, the cruel bastard, is one of those directors who likes the fresh feel of a unrehearsed take. Luckily, the scene is fairly basic. It's one of the last of the film, where Colin's character finally realises he has feelings for his best friend, and they kiss and then fall into bed. There's not much dialogue, Neilson tells them, so you have to communicate through body language.

"The audience have to feel what you feel." he says again. Colin nods, and moves into position, waiting for the voice to call action. He looks over at Ryan, and predictably, he winks. It gets under his skin a little that this is so easy for him, that there's no anticipation in his face at all. Colin wonders briefly if he looks nervous, and then Neilson yells at them to start, and there's no more time to think about it.

"I'm sorry," he starts, and the nerves leave him instantly. He can do this. "Daniel, I--"

Ryan shakes his head. "You have nothing to apologise for Matt, I hope you and Hugh are really happy--."

Two steps forward. "I broke up with him." Two more steps. "I realised he wasn't the one for me. I realised the person I'd always loved, was right in front of me all along."

Okay, so it's not exactly Shakespeare.

Ryan lifts his head, starting. "You? _What?_ "

"It was always you." Colin says, softly. He takes the last few steps clasping Ryan's wrist, and pulling him forward, closing the space between them. He can feel the veins pulsating under Ryan's skin.

Every interview he's ever read about these sorts of love scenes on camera had always told him how sterilized and professional it was, having all these people around watching you, eradicating anything personal that might be involved.

And in part, that was true enough, he was aware of everyone around him, focusing intently on his every move. But at the same time, that focus, that concentration was like holding everything under a microscope. When he touched Ryan's face, it felt stronger, illuminated, he could feel harsh stubble, warm skin, see the soft white imprint where his thumb pressed against his jaw. He could feel Ryan's hands, one at the small of his back, one at his neck, feeling hot against his skin. When they’d kissed each other on whose line it had all been part of the joke, a brief peck of the lips for an easy laugh .

This time it was different, when he leant in for the kiss he could feel everything, the quick puff of warm breath on his lips. Ryan's lips are dry, slightly chapped when pressed against his, but there is a softness behind it, his mouth is warm, wet, and Colin can smell the faint hint of tobacco. It isn't repulsive, it isn't even surprising.

_I know your lips_

"Cut!"

Colin pulls back out of Ryan's grasp quickly, and before he even realises he's doing it, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He finally directs his attention at Neilson, but Neilson isn't looking at him.

"Ryan, you look too awkward. You have to relax or this scene won't work."

Colin watches as Ryan nods but doesn't look at him. "Right, I got it."

"You've got to act as though this man is the love of your life." Neilson says again, waving his arms emphatically.

"I got it" Ryan says again, a little more forcefully.

But apparently he really doesn't. Thirty-five awkward takes later Neilson doesn't even say cut, he just storms diva-like offset, leaving the assistant director to call it a day. Colin turns around to find Ryan has disappeared too. He momentarily thinks about going after him, but after all these years he is far too familiar with Ryan's temper when he's had a bad day, and not willing to risk it. So he heads back to his trailer instead.

The stuff they put on his skin comes off surprisingly easily with a bit of soap. He stands under the faucet for a long time, probably too long, but the feel of the hot water beading up and over his skin is so glorious, he gets lost in it for awhile, fingers crinkling and steam catching comfortably in his lungs.

When he's mostly dried and dressed in some pajamas, he finds a note slipped under his door. It's from Neilson.

_"FABULOUS WORK TODAY MOCHRIE, PLEASE TEACH RYAN HOW!! :) :)"_

Colin chuckles despite himself, and slides the note into a drawer before collapsing into his bed. As amusing as the multiple smiley faces were, it was a futile request. Ryan doesn't need teaching, he's a perfectly good actor. He simply must have just been a little off today. He just needs to sleep on it.

Sleep is good. Colin likes to sleep.

Some time later Colin is startled out of his doze by a knock on his door. "Go away," he yells, semi-crankily, "I'm asleep."

"That's pretty fucking coherent for asleep."

It's Ryan. Colin grumbles, but rolls out of bed nevertheless, unlatching the lock on the door. "What do you want?"

Ryan scowls and hands him a piece of paper. It seemed Neilson had also visited his trailer too.

_"STILES, IF YOU STILL SUCK TOMORROW I'M REPLACING YOU WITH DREW CAREY!"_

Colin chuckles again, and hands back the piece of paper. "He's joking Ryan. You’ll do fine, go to sleep."

Ryan ignores him and pushes past him into the trailer. "He's not joking about the fact that I sucked."

"You had an off day--"

"I was fucking shit." Ryan spits, crossing his arms across his chest.

Colin sighs, and sits down on his bed, the mattress sinking invitingly under his weight. "So, what do you want me to do about it?"

"I think we should practice it again."

Colin opens his mouth to say no. To say that thirty five takes should have been more than enough practice. To say that it's late and he's exhausted and he really, really just wants some sleep.

But he can't. Ryan actually looks really frustrated and almost, vulnerable. He’s a friend. If he says no now, neither of them will get any sleep. All he's asking for is a little help, after all.

"Alright." Colin sighs, "What part of the scene isn't actually working for you?"

Ryan shifts on his feet slightly "The dialogue is okay, it’s the face-sucking."

"Alright" Colin replies, standing up "So kiss me, and don't fuck it up."

Ryan nods and quickly steps into him, pressing his lips against Colin's and ugh-- Colin pulls away, making a face.

"Oh god, Ryan, what did you eat?"

"A sandwich" Ryan replies, looking confused.

"With dead people in it?" Colin shakes his head, disgusted, and leans back over the bed, rustling through one of the drawers. When he turns back around, Ryan has a grin on his face.

"Tuna with onions" Ryan chuckles "I forgot."

Colin thrusts the packet of mints into the other man's hands. "Sure you did."

Ryan slips a mint into his mouth and there is a small silence as he chews, Colin can feel his hands wringing reflexively. The clicking of the clock on the side of his bed suddenly seems to get much louder. It never used to be this tense between them, it‘s odd.

"What is it that's making you so uncomfortable?" Colin asks finally.

Ryan shrugs and perches on the bed next to him, his brow furrowed. "I don't know."

"Do I need to wear a blonde wig and tassels?"

"Shut up" Ryan snaps. "It's not that, it just..."

Colin almost says he understands, but stops himself. Understands what exactly?

"Ryan, you're a great actor" Colin says slowly "Just pretend that you are Daniel. Pretend you've been in love with me for a long time, that I'm what you want, Pretend I'm what you've always wanted. You can do that right?"

Ryan looks at him for a second, intense and thoughtful. "Can I try something slightly different this time?"

Colin barely gets a chance to nod, before Ryan is over him, pushing him back against the bed, his full weight pressing Colin back into the mattress. Ryan pauses for a second, face inches away from Colin's, and he looks determined, and something else.

_He looks scared._

The realisation hits Colin with a jolt, and he's unfocused when Ryan kisses him. It's fierce, rough, and passionate. Almost painful. Colin lifts his arms slightly, trying to catch up, cradling the sides of Ryan's face, trying to regain some control. And then he feels the soft, warm flick of tongue against his bottom lip.

Huh, this must've been what Ryan meant by 'slightly different'.

Well, Colin thinks, in for a penny...

He parts his mouth slightly, cautiously, and though he's fully aware of what is happening he's not quite ready for the intensity of his response. The smothering heat of Ryan's mouth, the roughness of his tongue sliding over his and across the top of his mouth sends a welt of heat through his stomach he's not ready for, and evidently Ryan isn't quite either, a soft moan escaping somewhere in the other man's throat.

Colin pulls away abruptly, gasping despite himself. "Well, that seemed-- You should do that tomorrow I think."

He finally looks up at Ryan who is staring back at him, his face is pale and his eyes bright. Ryan just nods, and starts to make his way to the door. It's almost shut when Ryan opens it again, and leans in.

"Colin?"

Colin looks up from the bed, hands clutched hard over his knees. "Yeah?"

"I--” Ryan pauses, smoothing the back of his hair down. “I think I've really got it now. Thanks."

He doesn't say anything further, just ducks his head and disappears again. Colin walks across to the door and flicks the latch, his hand hovering over it momentarily, unsure what to do next, head swimming with thoughts, confusion.

Slight nausea.

Memories too, of a night mostly forgotten, where two young friends had drank a little too much, and buoyed by their own arrogance, thought it would be funny to creep into to the studio and hold their own show.

_"It'll be fun. Trust me"_

Colin stops short when he feels something cold under his foot. The packet of mints he'd retrieved for Ryan had tipped over somewhere in the course of their rehearsal, and are now scattered all over the floor. Colin leans down on the thin off-beige carpet and picks them all up, sorting them all neatly back into their tin. He closes it tightly and grips it in his hands.

Fuck.

"Fuck!" He yells it aloud this time, throwing the tin at the wall opposite, the mints exploding from their container and darting into all corners of the room.

Colin turns his back on the mess, and crawls into bed, curling up under the heavy folds of his blanket. He doesn't sleep again until the sun is already starting to rise.

 


	3. Improbable Mission; Act Three

 

Colin's always been quiet. Some moments more than others.

His mother had sent him to a psychiatrist for it when he was eight. From a Scottish family as loud and vocal as hers, she’d seen his soft spoken manner as an affliction. Though Colin hadn't realised exactly what was happening at the time, the sparse room, the clear, soft, unbiased voice of the pleasant lady speaking to him, asking him if he was bullied, or if his Father spoke harshly to him, stayed with him.

He'd stayed quiet, regardless. Cripplingly so at some points, disappointing fans who expected the over-animated, shouty beast onstage, and alienating strangers who thought he had an elitist complex. Sometimes the insecurity _had_ translated to the stage. His auditions had never been brilliant, and his best moments had always come unexpectedly, when he'd been at his most comfortable.

Ryan had asked him not long after they'd met why he was quiet, like it was a conscious decision. He'd lied and told him he just didn't speak when there was nothing to say.

The truth was less interesting.

Quiet was his security. If he didn't speak, people couldn't misconstrue or be confused by what he said. If he didn‘t speak overly much he couldn’t be embarrassed or ridiculed, or hurt. The same time as his introverted manner put him at odds with the world, it protected him.

So, he is bothered, but not altogether surprised when the day after his and Ryan's impromptu rehearsal, he's hit by a particularly crushing dose of self-consciousness. Everyone is too close, everything he touches is smothering and far too hot. He does just fine, as usual, when the cameras are rolling, and Neilson is delighted that Ryan has seemingly conquered the love scene overnight. But as soon as cut is called, Colin's that small, nervous kid in the shrink's office again. Shoulders hunched, avoiding eye contact, mumbling in response to people; using short, curt answers to end conversations before they can start.

By mid-afternoon people seem to have noticed, and are giving him a wide berth. Colin is just getting increasingly frustrated with himself, and finding it harder to concentrate on his lines. He's so exhausted by five, that when Neilson's assistant tells him he's got the rest of the day off, he can barely restrain himself from sprinting to his trailer.

He gets inside, and Colin's straight into the bathroom, splashing his face with water. The shock of cold on his warm skin shutting down his thoughts and senses for one blessed moment.

He lifts his head, face dripping water onto his shirt. A pale reflection in the mirror frowns back at him.

_I don't know what your problem is Mochrie, but snap out of it._

Colin weaves his way back into the living area of his trailer, and calls home. He gets the answering machine; his own voice, sounding high pitched and rushed, tells him to leave a message. He hangs up, then quickly, furtively reaches under his bed, looking for a particular pocket of his suitcase. It takes a bit of shuffling around, but he finally feels it; a small package encased in plastic.

A guilty twinge runs up the length of his spine, and he shrugs it off, pulling the packet out anyway and plucking a cigarette from it. It takes another fifteen minutes to find some matches, but as soon as he does, he clutches them tightly in his hand and slips out of his trailer, perching on steps outside his door.

The first drag of a cigarette after a long period of abstinence is always the most exquisite and terrifying. The familiar rush of heat, the burning sensation in the back of Colin's throat, is like pushing a release button somewhere in his neck, all the rigidity melting out of him amid the smoke sliding out over his lips.

On the second drag Colin holds his breath, keeping the smoke in his throat, starting a hot swell inside his lungs. When he lets it go the force stings the inside of his nose, but it's not uncomfortable. It's familiar.

Reassuring.

They'd been smoking that night. He remembers it clearly now, because it had been so dark on the lot their faces had been lit up by the orange embers of their cigarettes and little else. Ryan had smiled conspiratorially at him over his, and somehow produced a key. He’d led them both into the back of one of the studios.

_"You're going to get us arrested." Colin whispers, hitting his shin against something and cursing._

_Ryan chuckled. "It'll be fun. Trust me."_

_"Oh come on Ryan, that's never going to happen," Colin replies, grabbing the back of Ryan's shirt and shuffling closely behind him in a vain attempt to stop running into things._

_They eventually turn a corner, and an expanse of space opens up in front of them. The small amount of moonlight there is, reveals an all too familiar stage_

_"Well, that was exciting. I’m going home now," Colin says, but when he turns to leave Ryan catches his arm and spins him back around. Colin doesn't have to see properly to know that Ryan's face is only a few inches away from his own._

_"Let's play a game." Ryan says, a grin in his voice._

_Colin grins stupidly back into the silhouette of Ryan's face "Only if it's a hoedown."_

 

 

The cigarette burns Colin's fingers, and shakes him out of his memories. Reflexively, he drops the butt into the gravel, and presses it into the ground with the toe of his shoe. The ember smolders a little and then dies.

"I thought you gave those up."

Colin looks up to find Ryan leaning against the side of his trailer. he looks amused.

"I did-- I _have_." Colin shrugs, and then forces himself to look right at Ryan "I have brief periods of weakness."

Ryan moves and sits down next to Colin, passing him a beer. The condensation on the glass slips under his fingers slightly, so he puts his other hand under the base.

"Thanks." He means it too, the beer is good quality, just the right amount of froth.

"So, what's wrong?" Ryan asks finally.

A mouthful of beer catches in Colin's throat. "What?"

"You've been acting kind of tense today." Ryan clears his throat, digging his shoe into the dirt, forming a half moon in the ground. "Just wondered if something was up."

"Nothing's up."

"It wasn't something I said last night?"

Colin's grip tightens around the beer bottle. "I love how everything I do is about you."

Ryan stops, raising a cynical eyebrow. "That's not what I said at all."

"I know what you said. And I said life doesn't stop just because you deigned to start speaking to me again."

Colin knows he's rambling. That he's being spiteful and cruel, and more than a little crazy. This is _exactly_ why he didn't talk a lot. When people talked like this other people never spoke to them again, or they locked them up. Colin coughs. It's hot, his face is hot. Too hot. It can't be normal. Ryan doesn't look hot. He's just looking at Colin with that serious, thoughtful expression he always wears.

"I'm sorry we haven't kept in contact, if that's what you mean" Ryan said "I’ve-- I guess I didn't really think about it."

"Forget it, I'm used to it." Colin snits.

Ryan frowns. "What the fuck does that mean? Why are you so angry at me, Colin?"

_He’s using your first name, he must be angry._

Colin sighs and shake his head, mostly at himself. Today is officially a write off.

"Nothing, I'm sorry, I'm just tired and--" Colin stalls, handing his half-finished beer back to Ryan and starting back inside. "You did nothing."

The door of his trailer shuts behind him with a bang.

 

 

_"When the priest says 'speak now or forever hold your peace'? Expect to hear a familiar voice."_

"You or Cole Porter?" Colin had chuckled, falling awkwardly back against the desk. At least, he thought it was the desk. It was still far too dark in here to see properly.

Ryan hadn't answered him, he'd just kissed his way across Colin's collarbone, and up his neck until he was nestled somewhere under his jaw

"What game is this exactly?" Colin asked, sitting on the desk and wrapping his legs around Ryan's waist.

"Highly Probable Mission" Ryan mumbled, hands tugging at the bottom of Colin's shirt. "S'my mission to get you--"

If there was more, Colin doesn't get to hear it, because Ryan's mouth is on his. Nipping and sucking his bottom lip, tongue wet and hot against his, hands messing the hair behind his ears. It’s nice when Ryan kisses him, he’s so large, and got so many limbs, but he’s deceivingly gentle. Precise.

Seductive, even.

Abruptly, Ryan pulls back, his hands still cradling Colin's head.

"I'm serious" He pants, puffs of warm breath on Colin's lips. "I'll do it. We can move to Guam and fuck all day."

Ryan smiles at Colin, and for a fleeting second Colin almost entertains the idea of Ryan turning up at his wedding, declaring his lust, and the two of them running off to a dodgy Motel Six together. But the words themselves, and the increasing cold of the studio stage, seem to have brought him back to reality. The guilt seeps in, replacing the excitement of the situation. He sighs, and leans forward resting his head against Ryan's neck. This isn’t right anymore. It’s seedy.

He’s not this person

"No."

Ryan pulls back then, out of his grasp, and Colin can just make out the lines creasing his forehead. "No?"

"I love her." Colin says evenly.

Just as quickly, or maybe it was all a trick of the light after all, the lines disappear. And Ryan just looks back at him with a blank expression. Nothing. It’s as though he can't even see him, like he‘s looking right past.

"Hey, " Colin starts, sliding down off the desk and moving toward Ryan "You know, I mean, this has been fun but we always said--"

Ryan steps back, out of his reach and into the shadow of the wings.

"No, sure, I get it." he says, heading toward the exit. "Show's over."

 

 

There's a little bit of ash rubbed on his pants. Colin notices it when he's back inside his trailer, sprawled out on his bed, catching his breath. Just a smudge of grey on black linen.

It’s funny, and he really doesn’t know why he’s thinking of it now, but he’d held his breath that day on the altar, when the words were spoken; asking if anyone would object. The air just caught in his throat for that second, waiting for something, for anything. But there had been no sound, and the priest had continued with the service.

His best man had stood beside him, staring straight ahead, and had stayed quiet.

Colin brushes the ash on his pants with his thumb, but the smear seems to become more ingrained the harder he rubs at it. In the end he takes them off completely and throws them in the wash basket. There are plenty of clean, pressed pants in his suitcase.


	4. Improbable Mission; Act Four

It should have just blown over, Colin was hoping it might be that easy.

But it isn't. It never is.

Discomfort tends to spread. On set, it ratchets up to a nine. Ryan is cold; seems to have (some might say rightly) taken offense at his comments, and only speaks to Colin when it's necessary, or in the script. Ryan, it turns out, is quite efficient at avoiding any other interaction, often retreating to his trailer at lunch and between scenes. Never blatantly rude, just evasive. A sort of Don't Ask; Don't Make Me Hurt You, sort of silence.

Not unbearable, just a little difficult to laugh at.

Colin picks through his noodle salad, making small talk with the other actors, knowing the whole thing is completely ridiculous, and that he should just apologise for over-reacting. He just can't seem to push away his pride long enough to do so. After all, Ryan was the one who'd over-acted in the first place.

_What?_

Colin pushes away his food, and excuses himself. Holy crap, he's not even making sense in his own head anymore.

Little known eighth sign of madness, clearly. If he starts debating with himself, it is going to get awkward.

Days pass, and somewhere amongst the cameras and glaring lights Colin makes a decision to stop thinking things to death. If he can't be a perfect friend, then he can focus on what he _is_ good at. By throwing himself headfirst into the job, he is able to momentarily switch off his perpetual inner monologue. Ryan seems to have channeled most of his energies into his work too, and the next few weeks pass in a blur of words in place of talking, movements instead of actions, and some remarkably good takes. Neilson is ecstatic, and keeps telling them how in future he's going to employ them to coach all of his actors.

The fifth time he says it, Colin can't help himself, and in his slightly over-tired state he makes a mumbled, somewhat snide comment about just pissing them all off. Neilson looks understandably puzzled, but Colin out of the corner of his eye, glimpses Ryan grinning.

Funny how little it takes. In an instant any leftover resentment seeps right out of him. Colin opens his mouth to apologise, but Neilson is too fast, and cuts in, getting them back to work before he can say more than a word.

Later, then.

Putting a hand on Ryan's shoulder, warmth presses against the pads of his fingers, and Colin steps into character again.

He doesn't get a real chance to talk to Ryan till much later that day, when the sun is almost down, and Colin feels vaguely sinister creeping around the trailers in the orange half light. He briefly thinks about how it might have been much more effective if he'd covered himself in war paint and a shrub.

Ryan is, oddly, brushing his teeth when the door swings open, and so when he realises it's Colin, he just raises an eyebrow. It's not scathing, it's just a question.

"I came to --" Colin stalls, "--apologise."

Ryan shakes his head and says something that sounds like "I fwering teg ed." He walks away, and when he gets back, moments later; toothbrush and paste-free, he repeats himself "I was getting ready for bed."

"Oh. I can come back and apologise again tomorrow, if you want." Colin offers, then, a grin teasing the side of his mouth; "It's not like it's humiliating or anything. In fact, after I apologized to you I was going to just keep going, and apologise to everyone within a five mile radius. How does this sound? 'I'm sorry about the hoedowns, I'm sorry about that time I made out with Drew Carey, I'm sorry about the animal porn and the poo jokes, I'm sorry for Richard Simmons and I'm sorry for trying to sing--'"

"You can come in, if you stop doing that." Ryan replies, making a vague gesture that Colin guesses means the same thing.

Ryan's trailer is a predictable mess; clothes littered everywhere except the laundry basket, and bin overflowing with take-away containers. Despite that, it is remarkably inoffensive and smells slightly of tobacco, aftershave and something else not particular to anything. Indefinable, but irrefutably Stiles. It reminds him a little of his place in England. Colin slides onto a chair and smiles at the nostalgia. of course the apartment over there had also smelled strongly of pot fifty-nine percent of the time, obliterating most other odours.

Ryan makes a deliberate clearing noise in his throat.

"Right." Colin nods, remembering why he's here. He brandishes the whiskey bottle in his hand "Peace offering."

Ryan is leaning against the sink, arms crossed, looking altogether too big for the trailer. Colin once told his son that Ryan was so tall because his parents had stretched him out on a rack for telling fibs. Which had turned out to be a bad idea when Ryan's parent's had come to visit the set, and they couldn't find the poor kid for three hours.

Ryan's eyes glance briefly at the bottle, and a smirk cracks his face. "It's sweet that you brought me your complimentary Neilson stash."

Shit.

Colin frowns. "You too?"

Ryan nods, and opens the cabinet next to his head. There are five of the same whiskey bottles lined up inside.

"Hey, he gave you more than me." Colin says, offended. Three more to be precise.

Typical.

Ryan shrugs. "I _am_ the one everyone likes best."

Colin doesn't really stop to contemplate whether this is true or not, he just shakes his head, feigning an appalled expression, and clutches his bottle to his chest. "This is _mine_." He mouthes the word 'mine' at again, just for emphasis.

Ryan is up, and moves toward Colin, grinning in a somewhat-menacing, mostly-ridiculous manner.

"No. It's too late, you already gave it to me. "

"Prove it" Colin challenges, now absolutely determined to keep it, he turns with an over-dramatic flourish, and darts for the door. He's almost out of it too, before Ryan catches his arm and spins him around.

"Hand it over, Mochrie."

Ryan is leaning over him, trying to intimidate him, his voice lowered to a deep throaty growl usually reserved for musical numbers and other things Colin's trying not to remember. Ryan's playing as though he's liable to take desperate measures if he doesn't give him what he wants. But Colin knows better.

He knows this game. He knows all of them.

"Alright, just--" Colin says the words slowly, stalling, trying to decide whether to lick the bottle, thereby claiming ownership, but running the risk that Ryan would still take it anyway. Or to just fling the goddamn thing backwards out the door, which would stop Ryan from getting it, but would also mean he wouldn't get any.

Colin makes a snap decision, and throws the bottle over his shoulder. There is a satisfactory smash.

He doesn't even like whiskey anyway.

And Ryan's expression is worth it.

"Considering that was a peace offering, I believe that means we're officially at war."

There's laughter in Ryan’s voice and when he smiles, it's wide and genuine. Colin notices a smudge of white toothpaste still stuck on his upper lip, and instinctively reaches out to wipe it away. It's nothing really, just a habit. An ingrained intention of goodwill. When the his thumb touches upper lip however, Ryan freezes, and then Colin, shaken by default, freezes too, his hand suspended in mid air, heat crawling up into his face, absolutely unable to move.

It's Ryan that moves in the end, his hand tightening around Colin's upper arm and pulling him forward so that he's forced into making eye contact with him.

Oh, Christ.

"Colin--" Ryan starts, eyes searching, his voice barely audible.

"I have to go to sleep." Colin blurts stupidly, ducking out of Ryan's grip and backing out through the door.

" _Colin_." Ryan says again, this time more forcefully.

There's an insistence in his voice that makes Colin stop mid-stride. Even silhouetted by the light of his trailer, Ryan's gaze is still uncomfortably intense. Colin notes, that for a guy that looks like a coat hanger, he can be remarkably unnerving at times.

'What?" Colin snaps, breath catching in his throat just slightly.

"I just---" Ryan stalls, and slowly his shoulders drop. "Forget it."

"Done." Colin says as he leaves, his boots crunching over broken glass. The irrational anger he can't quite place is back with full force, and crowding his skin like a flush.

 

 

Colin's shaken out of a deep, thick sleep by loud knocking on his door. Sluggishly, he notes how annoyingly classic this scenario is. If he's learnt anything about life it's that you'll never to fail to get a wake up call in the middle of a decent rest. Conversely, if you can't sleep at all, everyone in the world will take up a vow of silence, and laugh, silently, as you toss and turn your blankets into a veritable fishnet.

One big fishnet.

"Ryan?" He asks finally, barely coherent.

The incessant knocking stops. "No. It's Beca"

Colin drags himself out of his bed, wiping the corner of his mouth with his sleeve. Beca, the assistant director, a skinny, young girl usually hidden behind a mop of dark hair, is waiting at his doorstep, looking uncomfortable. And yet, now that he's thinking about it, he's not sure he's ever seen her look comfortable.

"Filming's been cancelled today. Mr Neilson is working on a rough cut of the film he wants to show the cast tonight." She passes him a small brown envelope. "It's at the Gate Theatre at eight."

"Wait, what?" Colin says, his sleep addled mind trying to grasp to situation, and doing a miserable job. "He's already got a rough cut? How is that possible? We haven't even finished"

Beca shrugs, now looking distinctly annoyed. "You know what he's like."

Colin just opens his mouth at her like a bizarre man-fish, so she elaborates further.

"Fucking crazy?"

"Yeah." Colin nods, licking his dry lips. "It still doesn't explain--"

"Look, I've got to wake everyone on the lot and tell them about this, I've got to go. Just --it's all on the invite anyway."

Colin nods again, this time at her back as she scuttles away, muttering under her breath. He opens the envelope, and Neilson (never one to spare expense) has scrawled in his own writing. "8pm. Gate Theatre. First cut! EXCITING! Bring booze and dress up! Also allowed; copious praise! XOX. Neilson"

That's it, Colin thinks. The man has lost his mind.

He shuffles back into his trailer and turns the kettle on, somewhat bereft of things to do now that his day is free. Colin switches on the television. Friends is on.

Colin switches it right back off. Television is a definite no-go.

He lies back on the bed, stretching out, and waits for the kettle to boil.

 

 

It's weird, watching yourself onscreen. Colin always finds himself feeling a little self conscious, and a little bit on the defensive. In some ways, it's a little like the first time he'd realised people talk about each other. His first insight had come by accident. In grade school Colin had found his friend's school book lying open with the words scrawled neatly in the corner "Colin Mochrie is stupid, I hope he gets boils on his face." There was shock, he remembers that, but the stronger feeling that had stayed with him, was that Marty Stevenson might have very well been right.

That's what its like, watching himself behind the camera, acting, doing a job. The fear that he will be utterly incapable, that someone will see all the reasons to dislike him. He can't act, he's not pretty, he's not funny. It's as though this might prove that the occasional self-doubt is justified. He's completely exposed, and when people see him, it might just make them hope he is growing boils on his face.

It's slightly dramatic, but it's how he feels. It's why he avoids reviews, producers, executives and large portions of the internet. He never could develop the tough, indignant indifference Ryan had.

Colin could pretend he didn't care, that was easy. After all, he'd made a living out of pretending. He'd never let anything show to the audience. But when the curtain closed, he still cared.

So he's nervous at the screening. Despite the fact that it's an incredibly rough, jumbled cut. Despite the fact that there are only about fifteen people there. Despite the fact that about eight of those people, including Neilson are blind drunk from too many dinner drinks, he's still nervous.

Worse still, when Ryan turns up, he doesn't help him relax like usual. In fact, Colin's first impulse is to rip his stupid orange tie off and hit him repeatedly with it. Ryan glances around the room at Neilson and another drunk cast member assaulting a plastic tree, and then grins at Colin.

"Bet you wish you hadn't smashed that whiskey bottle now, don't you?"

"I wish I'd thrown it at you." Colin replies, and skulks grumpily into the theatre. Ryan follows and sits next to him, so either he thinks he was joking, or he's incredibly dense.

The lights dim.

It turns out that Neilson, bless him, might have also been drunk while putting the clips together. The takes have no logical order, and quite a few are bad, and multiple takes. Colin finds himself laughing quietly through most of the nonsense, and he's not the only one. After twenty minutes he's not feeling self conscious at all, and logically, that was probably the reason things went the way they did. Since the whole movie thing had begun, he'd been able to relax for roughly four point two seconds.

The next take is the first attempts of the love scene where Ryan messed up repeatedly. Colin feels Ryan shift slightly in the seat beside him, and tempting as it is, he can't bring himself to mock him.

_"I realised he wasn't the one for me. I realised the person I'd always loved, was right in front of me all along."_

Colin shifts slightly himself, someone needs to turn down the heat in this theatre.

_"You? What?"_

_"It was always you."_

Onscreen, Colin grabs Ryan's wrist, and Ryan's hand shakes.

He hadn't noticed that on the day. Not at all.

_"It was always you."_

Somewhere, Neilson is yelling at Ryan for messing up the take, but Colin isn't watching anymore. His eyes are at his feet, his chest constricting, burning. His stomach somewhere in his throat, eyes watering. Once when he was young, he'd fallen out of the next door neighbours tree. The feeling of falling had stayed with him, as had the feeling of hitting the ground, having the air knocked out of him, dirt in his face, blood in his mouth.

This is the closest feeling he's had to that since.

Ryan puts a hand on his back. "Colin?"

He stands up, out of Ryan's grasp. Mutters something about going to the bathroom, and practically runs out of the theatre.

The Men's room is cooler, marginally, compared to the theatre. Colin splashes his face repeatedly with water, but can't seem to stop down the burning in his chest. He is pacing, and breathless when the door opens with a snap.

It's him. Ryan. The Bastard.

"Are you okay?" Ryan asked, his features strained with worry. "You ran out of there like--"

"What didn't you object?" Colin snaps angrily.

Ryan blinks "What?"

Colin wants to hit him. Pulverize him. Shake him till they both can't even see straight anymore, and this whole thing, --whatever it is --, is beaten right the hell out of both of them.

"You said you would object, and you didn't," Colin knows exactly what he's saying, but he's not in control; it's as though he's watching himself and now it's started, he can't quite stop it. "The priest asked and you said nothing. Why?"

There is a long silence. Ryan straightens up, looking straight at Colin. He's trying to remain impassive, but Colin has known him too long to buy it.

"You asked me not to."

Colin stares back. He did. He said that. He remembers now. But it doesn't help quell the anger, in fact, it only makes it worse.

"What kind of excuse is that?!"

"You said it was -what it was- was just fun between us!" Ryan yells suddenly, losing his cool completely .

"And since when do you listen to me?!"

"Fuck!" Ryan throws his head back in frustration. "Colin, you said you loved her!"

"I did! But I was _in love_ with _you_!"

As soon as Colin says it, he regrets it, a wave of revulsion, embarrassment, shock, a mix of all three hits him like a brick to the face. He hasn't just said too much. He's said it, kicked dirt in its eyes and kidnapped its newborn baby.

Ryan is just staring at him, stunned.

"Oh shit." Colin stutters, just barely. He can't breathe, and he thinks maybe, or definitely he's going to vomit. So he does the only thing he can do; backs into a stall, and locks the door. When it clicks shut he collapses onto the seat and sticks his head between his legs.

_Mochrie, you are a Stupid Stupid Stupid. There are people with only an inch of brain left who are less Stupid Than You._

There is movement outside the stall and Colin freezes.

"Open the door." Ryan's voice is calmer now.

"No." He replies stubbornly.

"Colin, open the fucking door."

"No."

Ryan sighs audibly. But Colin doesn't move an inch. The minutes tick by, and mercifully, Ryan finally gives up. Colin hears his footsteps on the tiling, and then the door opens and slams shut so hard that the stall rattles.

Colin breathes out with more force than he knew he was holding on to. Now if he can just get back to his trailer and avoid seeing Ryan Stiles for the rest of his life, everything will be perfect.

Colin gets up quickly, and fumbles nervously with the lock.

When the door swings open, Ryan is there, waiting for him. Grinning and unquestionably pleased with himself.

"I can't believe you fell for that, you mook"

Before Colin can reply, or shut the door again, Ryan moves fast, his hand on Colin's chest pushing, --forcing him back into the stall, kicking the door shut behind him. Colin sprawls backwards until his back hits the shockingly cold wall, and Ryan has him pinned against it, a knee between Colin's legs, hands pressed against his shoulders, hot and sweaty through his shirt.

Ryan is blinking furiously, his face pensive.

"I'd like to call in a late objection."

Colin's breath hitches, and he barely has time to consider what is happening, or how to respond before Ryan's mouth is on his.

And then he knows exactly what to do, because this is exactly what he's wanted -- _needed_ for too goddamn long. He leans into the kiss, parting his lips, welcoming the heat of Ryan's mouth, the taste of his tongue. Hot, sweet, wet, soft. So much better than their rehearsal, so much better than before, because they both want it this time, and they both know.

No pretending.

Ryan releases Colin's arms, and his own slide around Colin’s waist, warm, sending a frightening, glorious bolt of heat through Colin's stomach and groin. He cradles Ryan's face, running his trembling fingers through the deceptively soft curls, kissing him harder. Wanting him closer, crushing his body against his. Ryan apparently has similar ideas, untucking Colin‘s top, and soft, nimble fingers dancing up underneath his shirt, and over his skin.

His skin. Colin has to take a breath, the sensation, the knowledge of what they are doing a little overwhelming. When he does Ryan's looking at him, uncharacteristically vulnerable, eyes bright. Waiting for something.

Waiting for me to stop it, Colin realises.

I don't fucking think so, no.

Colin grips the back of Ryan's neck and pulls him into another fierce, desperate kiss, then sliding a hand down over hot skin till he finds Ryan's belt buckle. It's blessedly easy to get open considering how his hands are shaking, and how ferociously Ryan is kissing him. His hand skates over lightly over the material of Ryan's pants and then, abandoning modesty, Colin cups the semi-hard bulge of Ryan's cock. Ryan jerks forward slightly, swearing unintelligibly, and Colin is sure he's harder if only from the effect he's having on Ryan.

Ryan kisses his neck, and under his jaw, working at Colin's own belt, when Colin slides his hand down Ryan's pants and bypassing the rough hair, grasps Ryan's now fully erect cock, rubbing his thumb across the head. Ryan makes a choked sound in his throat and roughly pushes Colin's pants down so that they fall somewhere around his ankles. Colin's not quite ready himself for the feeling of Ryan's coarse hand on his straining cock, and he starts slightly. Ryan steadies them both with his free hand, grasping the top of Colin's arm.

They make eye contact, and it's just them. An unspoken agreement. Nothing else. This is theirs.

Ryan starts moving first, his fist around Colin's cock. A quick, continuous, blinding rhythm, that's so fucking good Colin barely keeps his grip on Ryan. But he's not going to let him down, not after all this, and Colin does gather himself enough; soon they are working with, not against each other, thrusting each other harder and faster. Colin is stuck somewhere between fear and elation, brain trying to keep focused despite Ryan’s ministrations, moans helplessly into Ryan's sweat soaked shoulder. Ryan, predictably, endearingly eloquent, swears repeatedly against Colin's ear, bucks forward into his hand.

When Ryan comes he bites down on the skin of Colin's neck, and falls forward. The splash of heat against Colin's hip is all it takes for him to hit the edge, and he’s gone. Colin‘s forehead is pressed against Ryan‘s. Hot, sweating, wet. Their breathing ragged, but holding on to each other still, as if anything less might let them both fall.

A door slams open, and they both jump. Neilson pissed, but oblivious voice yells at them through the stall.

"You fucking ungrateful bastards! What the hell are you doing? You missed the fucking climax!"

Colin claps a hand over his mouth, but it doesn't stop his sniggering. Ryan doesn't even attempt to restrain himself, and their combined amusement spills over, laughter in clear, joyous bursts that echo around the bathroom and out into the foyer.

 


	5. Improbable Mission; Act Five

 

It's cold when Colin wakes.

Not Freezing, just cold enough that he feels it where the blanket has hitched up slightly at his back, slithers of cool air working their way up under his pajamas and pushing him out of bed. Colin zips over to the heater and switches it on, then just as quickly, hurries back onto the bed and under his blanket. There's a dull ache when he rolls onto his back.

And then he remembers why. He stops moving for an instant, the fresh memory of his back hitting cold tiling slightly unreal. Not a dream, he knows that much. The rest of it. Ryan's mouth, Ryan's hands, Ryan's skin--

Ryan.

Colin pokes his head up out of his blanket, just to make sure he's not there. That, he hadn't forgotten completely.

He's not. And the memories are coming faster now.

 _"Stay here,"_ Ryan had grumbled. They had been in his trailer --they'd left everyone at the theatre behind -- and had been rolling around on Ryan's bed, kissing, rubbing, groping each other like catholic newlyweds.

_Ryan had him pinned to the mattress, straddling him, one hand on Colin's chest. "Don't go yet. Stay here. We can do things."_

_"Nintendo?" Colin teases, fingers lingering somewhere near Ryan's navel. "Are you going to bake?"_

_"I was thinking more along the lines of Fucking Your Brains Out."_

_Ryan suggests it unflinchingly, finding Colin's neck. He seems to have a fixation with necks, Colin's noticed. Or at least, his. Ryan tongue, hot and wet, lathes his collarbone._

_Colin closes his eyes. "That's such a romantic thing to... uh.." Ryan's sucking the skin now, and he's having trouble keeping a coherent train of thought. "...Seriously. We have to work tomorrow, we --mm Ryan I --I need, we both need sleep."_

_Ryan stops, sighs, and rolls off him; planting his face straight into a pillow, and mumbling something vaguely frustrated. Colin almost reaches out and pulls him straight back, but stops himself. Not entirely convinced his hesitation is everything he said it was. Knowing if he doesn't leave now, it's likely he won't at all. The familiar, overwhelming guilt creeping under his skin._

_"You could always get up early." Colin jokes, as he sits up. Ryan rolls onto his side, and looks up at him_

_Glares, actually._

_"I hate you."_

_Colin smiles, and walks to the door, not believing him for a second._

 

 

There is a knock on the door and Colin throws his blankets over his head again. He couldn't have --surely. Ryan never gets up early, even for sex. And he'd really been joking anyway, and --- Colin rubs his eyes with his hands --oh crap, what if it's awkward? What if it isn't at all and he can't stop? That might be worse.

Maybe should just pretend he's not here.

The knocking increases in volume, and Colin relents.

"Ryan?"

"No. It's Beca. Again."

He gets up, hoping very much that today isn't some sort of groundhog day redux, and opens the door. Colin didn't think it was possible that the girl could have gotten any surlier, but Beca seems to have developed a new, fiercer scowl overnight. He shrinks back a little bit against the door.

"Yeah?"

"Filming has been cancelled again. Neilson's hung over, and having an existential crisis."

Colin presses his lips together. "Well, as long as it's nothing serious."

Dear god, the studio must be loving this.

Beca doesn't even twitch a smile. She just sort of blinks at him, and sets off again. Presumably to scare some other poor bastard. Colin hopes she doesn't have to do the same thing again tomorrow, or else he's fairly certain he's going to open the door to something along the lines of Good Morning, May I Club A Baby Seal In Front Of You?

As he's reaching out to shut the door, an unidentified hand, definitely not belonging to the Assistant Director, grips Colin's wrist.

He squeals.

And it was a _manly_ squeal.

Ryan appears around the doorway, attached to the hand, and laughing at him.

"I didn't mean to scare you."

"Yes, you did." Colin retorts, moving sideways so Ryan can get inside. He can feel the nerves tingling, biting at the edges of his stomach. Ryan doesn't let go of his wrist, and so he does a sort of half spin back into his trailer.

"A little bit." Ryan beams at him. "Hi."

"Hi," Colin echoes, voice oddly quiet. "You're up early."

Ryan grabs Colin's other wrist, pulling him forward, and slides his own arms up over Colin's shoulders, into a hug. It's a little awkward, but the spark from last night is still there too. A familiar glow swells in Colin's chest. Maybe it's his imagination, but Ryan feels warm too, and his clothes soft and starchy, as though they've just come out of a dryer.

"Well you know what they say" Ryan says, breath hot against Colin's forehead.

Colin succumbs, and lets his own arms fall comfortably around Ryan's waist. He shakes his head slightly

"What do they say?"

"That the early bird catches the--"

Colin is quick, and slaps a hand over Ryan's mouth. "I'm going to pretend you didn't almost just say that."

"What?" Ryan kisses palm of his hand lightly, "You don't want me to catch--?"

" _Stop!_ " Colin pleads, cringing, but laughing despite himself. "That is the absolute worst pick up line I have ever heard in my life. You've completely nauseated me, and that's no small feat considering who I tour with."

Ryan's hands stall somewhere around his shoulder blades. There is a small pause.

"I didn't realise Brad and I had so much in common"

Colin blinks a couple of times, confused.

"That's not what I meant."

"I know," Ryan says snidely, rolling his eyes. "You are just best friends."

Annoyance flares somewhere in Colin's chest. He lets go of Ryan's waist and takes a step back, composing himself.

"I don't have a goddamn pie chart"

"Lucky for me, I guess."

Ryan barely even opens his mouth to say it. It's a mumble, less than. But Colin hears, and every word imprints itself in his head. His blinking turns into rapid fire, and annoyance turns into fully fledged anger.

"Are you serious?" Colin snaps, "After what I told you last-- Ryan, I don't fuck just anyone. I'm not--"

He stops himself, but not soon enough.

"Me?" Ryan prompts.

Shit. Colin slumps back on his bed, frustrated. He can't even deny it at this point. The conversation has done a complete one-eighty and verged right into nasty.

"That's not what I meant either."

"I know what you meant," Ryan says, his voice hard and cold. "I'm the sleaze ball, you're fucking perfect."

"Don't start that bullshit with me" Colin snaps. "You know I don't think that, I just-- I'm not. I don't just, not with anyone. Brad is just a good friend. You and I are -- completely different."

"Then what are we?" Ryan asks.

They say the average time before a person will speak to break a silence is roughly three seconds. In improv, that figure is slightly less, as a potential pause can break a scene completely. Today the silence is longer than Colin has ever experienced. He lies there on the bed, hesitant to move, not able to answer, not able to think of a single response that might smooth things over. Ryan sits, perched precariously on the end of the bed, back to Colin, not making a sound.

It occurs to him, that silence isn't quiet at all, its simply the conversation of the defeated.

"It’s just--" Ryan starts finally. "--Sometimes it's like everyone gets to have you, exactly the way they need you-- "

‘Except for me’ is the unspoken addendum.

Colin sighs, and with a sudden burst of affection gets up onto his knees and embraces Ryan. Colin’s arms slide up under Ryan's armpits, and encircle his chest, crushing his ribs in a sort of backwards hug.

It shouldn't make any sense, but it does. It is ridiculous, and it makes complete sense.

They weren’t ‘just friends’ anymore. There was too much guilt, too much resentment, too much volatility, too much lust. It was the unnamed reason; why they couldn’t fully relax; why they struggled to keep contact when they were in different cities. ‘Just friends’ had stopped being applicable a long time ago, for both of them.

And anything else was--

Improbable.

"I know." Colin says softly against the back of Ryan's neck.

Ryan doesn't say anything, but grips Colin's hand tightly, and sags against him, into his arms. There is silence again, and Colin doesn't fight it this time, he just closes his eyes, ignoring the knots constricting in his stomach, and listening instead to the muffled creaks of Ryan's back as he breathes.

The phone rings, startling them both. Colin doesn't move, so Ryan turns his head slightly.

"You going to get that?"

"No, " Colin replies “It’ll probably be Neilson wanting to know the meaning of--

There is a shrill beep as the answering machine kicks in, silencing them both, and then a female voice. Painfully, staggeringly familiar.

"Hi Hon, it's me. Just ringing to see how you are. We miss you over here. I hope things are going well. Give me a call. Love you, Bye."

Colin relinquishes his grip on Ryan and buries his head in his hands, fingers rubbing hard against his forehead. Shit. Shit. Fucking shit. It can’t be this hard, it can’t possibly be this fucking complicated. There is right and there is wrong and--

_You are an abominable human being._

“Col--”

"I think maybe you should go." Colin cuts in, not even able to look up.

Ryan doesn't speak again. He just gets to his feet and does just that.

 

 

 

The honeymoon is over.

That said, If he and Ryan ever had a honeymoon period, Colin can't remember it. Save their interlude at the cinema, every romantic moment they ever had, every moment they had was filled with guilt, or confusion, or distrust. When he remembers them before, it's always when they were sneaking somewhere. Hiding things, awkward half-moments behind closed doors. Even sometimes, during rare moments on whose line, when Ryan had touched him, Colin had found himself startled, shying away or closing up completely. The awkwardness wasn't overly obvious, it just was.

If it’s all over, then it’s for the best.

Except there is no ‘if‘, not really You can’t finish something that never started.

The last week of filming is odd. Ryan doesn't stop talking to him this time. He simply hits default mode. Friendly, joking, patient. Vacant. The perfect friend at face value. Colin responds the only way he knows how; by being the other guy, slipping right back into the easy, harmless banter that serves them so well.

Colin’s wringing his hands again, and sometimes he doesn’t notice he's been doing it until it’s been so long his skin is numb, and the muscles are raw. Sometimes he wakes at night wringing them, and with his jaw clenched so tight he wonders how his teeth haven’t cracked.

A few times out of the corner of his eye, Colin notices Ryan watching him, almost absently. One time, when he makes the same mistake himself, his prolonged gaze gets Ryan’s attention, and Ryan almost takes the opportunity; opens his mouth to say something, and then just as quickly, he shuts it.

Who knows, maybe his lunch was just repeating on him.

The float around each other like that right to the finish. Pretending as though everything is fine, acting as though nothing ever passed between them, but meticulous in making sure they never touch, that eye contact never lingers, and that they are never left alone together

Colin feels like he's in a twelve step program. If he doesn't get a fucking badge at the end of this, he’s going to be pissed.

 

 

And then, just like that, it’s done.

Walking into the Wrap party is bizarre. And not just because of Neilson and his posse of men dressed as geishas. Colin can’t quite believe it's all over already. The time has flown, so much has occurred, and yet, at the end of it, all that will be left is two hours of film, and half a set in storage. That this time tomorrow, he'll be on his way home. Already beginning to forget tiny details.

Home. Colin smiles a little to himself; he knows exactly what to expect at home. It was the scene played out a thousand times before, and stacked neatly in his head. No surprises. Home was nice, warm-- It was safe.

He could do with a little safety.

Suddenly, Colin feels somewhat exposed in the middle of the polished hardwood, and does a weird sort of half step, behind a group of people he doesn't recognize, melding into the crowd, into the blur of jumbled noise. Various people nod at him but don’t pay him much notice otherwise. Someone grabs hold of his shoulder and yells something in his ear, but he has no idea who the guy is, or what he just said, so Colin just smiles and nods and hopes he got it right.

It could be embarrassing later, if it turned out to be some sort of proposition.

Colin weaves his way though people looking for someone he knows he can talk to. He finds two of them at the same time. Ryan and The Assistant Director Beca. Ryan is sitting on a big velvet couch, with a bottle of whiskey in his hand. Beca also has a bottle of something alcoholic in her hand, and is sitting on Ryan’s lap, singing.

He doesn’t know which image is more disturbing; Watching Ryan trying to hook up. Or Beca looking happy.

Colin swallows hard, his head feeling sort of disconnected from the rest of his body, and decides against approaching them. They’re clearly busy, and besides, he’s pretty sure someone at the bar will talk to him. He’s the fucking star of the movie for fuckssake, would it hurt anyone to treat him like it for once?

I bet Tom Hanks never has to put up with this shit.

“Liquor please.” Colin says, tapping his hands against the bar to the music. “A small basin will do.”

The bartender passes him something with gin and tonic and something else that it turns out, resembles lighter fluid, that burns a nice warm path down Colin’s throat. Oh good, a few more drinks of this and he’ll be able to roll himself all the way back home.

Colin’s on his second mouthful, when someone literally jumps into the seat next to him

“Hey Mister,” says an all too-familiar voice, attached to a similarly familiar face. “This is a party for young people. Do want me to take you back to the nursing home?”

“Brad!” Colin says, choking on his drink, but thrilled to see him regardless. He leans forward and embraces Brad in a one armed hug. “This is a pleasant surprise, but what the fuck are you doing here?”

Brad waves a vague ‘get me a drink‘ gesture at the bartender, and then turns back to Colin “I was down here to visit people who owe me money, but my grandma is short this week, so I thought I’d crash your big party, make sure you weren’t doing anything I wouldn’t do.”

Colin laughs “Like what? Bathe?”

“What _the fuck_ is _he_ doing here?” asks a third voice. More familiar.

“That’s what I just asked!” Colin laughs, a little light-headed, as he turns around in his seat. He stops laughing when he can see that it is Ryan talking, and that Ryan looks extremely, extremely angry. In fact, Colin doesn’t think he’s seen him this angry, ever.

This could get very uncomfortable.

Brad either doesn’t notice, or wants to pretend he doesn’t, because he walks toward Ryan with his hand outstretched.

“Hey Ryan, long time no see, I--”

Ryan bypasses the hand-shaking and shoves Brad backwards so hard that he actually goes toppling backwards into a group of chattering young girls.

“Get the fuck away from me.” Ryan spits, and then directs his attention at Colin “What is he doing here? I thought you said you didn't--”

Colin stands up quickly, caught somewhere between embarrassment and concern. Specifically embarrassment for Ryan, concern for Brad.

“Ryan,” he says slowly. “You’re drunk.”

“What’s going on?“ Brad looks confused, and a little hurt. “I didn’t mean to--”

“It’s not your fault, he’s just drunk.” Colin says, suddenly aware that they‘re starting to attract attention for all the wrong reasons. He wants to explain to Brad at least, to stop the bewildered glances, but he doesn't know how. He doesn't even entirely know what is going on here himself.

“Stop saying that.” Ryan replies, stubbornly

Colin turns to Ryan, exasperated “You _are_ drunk, you stupid moron. Where is Beca?”

“Should I call a taxi?” Brad asks quietly, hand at Colin's shoulder.

“Fuck you, Fuck you Brad!” Ryan splutters, stumbling forward again. “Fuck you. You can’t have him.”

Brad moves right behind Colin, which probably isn't the best move, and shakes his head at Ryan, uncomprehending.

“Stiles, _Dude,_ What are you talking about?”

“He’s drunk” Colin says again, beginning to feel like a parrot.

Ryan glares at him.

“Goddamn it Colin, I'm not drunk I-- I fucking love you!”

Oh, Christ.

Colin closes his eyes for a moment, Ryan's words sending a flush of heat to his cheeks. When he hears Neilson yell "I fucking love you too, Colin darling!" he thinks that's about enough for today.

Downing the rest of his drink in one gulp, and then avoiding acknowledging the shocked expression on Brad’s face, or the inquisitive faces dotted throughout the hall, Colin grabs Ryan’s sleeve and drags him out the front door and straight into a taxi.

“No, you don’t” Colin says finally, a little too angrily. “Sleep it off.”

He slams the taxi door and turns away before Ryan can say anything else. Except that, as soon as the taxi roars off, Colin has no idea what to do. His chest feels tight and tired, and he doesn't want to go back inside and talk to anyone. It's freezing out, and he just stands right there in it, shallow breaths of air sending puffs of mist up in front of his face. Shifting from one foot to the other.

"That Ryan Stiles is quite a kidder."

Brad has seemingly materialized out of nowhere. That's infuriatingly nice of him.

"Huh?" Is the best response Colin can manage, he's busy digging a hole the cement pathway with his foot. He hasn’t made any real progress, but his foot is comfortably numb.

"I mean, still going on with the jokes about you two being together," Brad says slowly, deliberately. He's watching Colin with some intensity. "I thought for sure he would have given it up by now."

"Just say what you want to say." Colin snaps.

"It wasn't a joke, was it?"

It's not even a real question, but Colin answers Brad anyway;

"You are very astute, I’ll kill you last."

"Do you--" Brad pauses, evidently picking his words. "I mean, is it reciprocated?"

Colin finally looks up at Brad. "Yeah."

Another pause.

"That is freaking intense." Brad says, but there is no judgment there, and then he is shuffling a little closer to Colin. "Do you need a hug or something?"

Colin cracks a small grin, making a sudden decision, warmth spreading through his chest.

"No, I need a taxi."

 

 

Dreams are funny things. There are dreams Colin remembers having that felt too real. As though what was happening was not in fact, random thoughts fired off by his brain cells, but a haunting prediction of things to come. Experiences he was simply waiting to have. These kinds of dreams always oozed under his skin and stayed there.

Harder to remember however, were those moments in of reality when he felt as though he was dreaming. As the taxi had wound it's way through the streets, he doesn't see a thing. When he gets out, all he remembers from the drive is the fuzzy outline of the air freshener dangling from the mirror, and the press of nerves in his throat.

When he walks through the lot he doesn't feel the cold, or the solid pressure of pebbles under his feet, his only feeling is the urgency of what he's doing here.

 

 

Then, he knocks on Ryan's door and he‘s wide awake again.

"Go away, I'm asleep."

Colin almost smiles. "That's pretty fucking coherent for asleep."

There is a long silence, followed by the muffled sounds of movement, and then finally the door opens. Ryan is squinting at him, and he looks mysteriously sober.

"That's my line."

Colin tugs his jacket sleeves over his hands, smirking. "Whose?"

Ryan smiles slightly, shaking his head at the (admittedly) terrible joke. He's standing in the doorway only in the cotton pants hanging loosely around his hips. He must be freezing, but he keeps standing there.

Colin takes a deep breath. Now or never.

"Me too."

Ryan furrows his brow slightly. "You too what?"

Colin wrings his hands. This is stupid. I shouldn't have to say it. You see it. Every time I look at you, every time I talk to you, every time you're near me, it shows.

"What you said before, at the party, I--" Colin is stopped short by Ryan leaning down to kiss him. A soft, lingering peck on the lips.

"Yeah, I know." Ryan smiles, eyes bright. "Now come the fuck inside, it's freezing out here."

 

 

Later, when Ryan is asleep, head resting on Colin's stomach, near the bottom of his rib cage, Colin threads his fingers through strands of Ryan's hair, internalizing the feel, the utter reliability of it. Time passes, things change, Ryan's hair stays like a worn down welcome mat. Colin's so focused on the touch, that when he starts to slip into sleep himself and his hands slacken, he's falling. He pulls himself out of his doze with a yell, just before he hits the ground.

Ryan stirs.

"Sorry, did you hear that?" Colin asks softly.

"Mmhm. You'kay?"

"Yeah, I think I dreamed something."

Ryan tightens his arms around Colin's waist, a quietly tender gesture of reassurance. It’s a good, odd feeling. Like they’re joined. Like this thing, this bond, whatever it is they’ve got, starts in Ryan’s chest and ends in his.

"Take me to Guam," Colin says after a long pause, but Ryan is asleep again.

 

 

 

Colin is shaken out of sleep the next morning by the sounds of someone moving around him. Blearily, head heavy, he opens his eyes to Ryan packing his suitcase. Ryan's rushing and flustered so it takes him a moment to realise Colin is awake, and when he looks at Colin it's uneasy.

Guilt.

"And you haven't even paid yet," Colin jokes, trying to lighten things up despite the fact his heart is thumping unrelentingly against his rib cage.

"I got a call before," Ryan explains quickly. Too quickly. Ryan’s not keeping eye contact either, his movements almost jumpy. "One of the girls is sick."

Colin sits up, crossing his legs. "It's nothing serious I hope?"

"I don't think it is, to be honest." Ryan hesitates, and then shrugs. "I think because we've finished filming now, she --well, she just wants me home."

"Sure. That makes sense." Colin replies, keeping his face neutral, expressionless. They both knew this would happen one way or another. Nevertheless Colin's heart is still pounding, his ears hot as the foolish unrealities of the two of them in another place disintegrate and fade into nothing.

"I'll call you," Ryan says, as he drops the suitcase near his feet. He leans forward, pressing a kiss on Colin's forehead. "I don't want to leave, but ..."

Colin is nodding at Ryan, his smile unfaltering.

"I know," he says evenly. "Show's over."

 


End file.
